


Gathered wind in his fists and the stars round his wrists

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Bible Quotes, Character Study, Gen, Nature, Non-Linear Narrative, Prayer, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Treat, mentions of God - Freeform, spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: He is safe. He is here, and God is here as well. And God is a right bastard sometimes, Marcus knows. And that's exactly how he likes Him. And he hears Him laughing, as he makes everything new. And sometimes he doesn't wipe away the tears, because his angels will do it for him.Marcus, God, and some prayers by the water.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	Gathered wind in his fists and the stars round his wrists

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearteating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteating/gifts).



> This story's title is from [John saw that number](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foqUchQZa1o), by Neko Case. It was inspired by [Revelation 21:4](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+21&version=NIV), and also by [Love tried to welcome me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBl219JCo2Q), by Madonna, which I listened to on repeat while writing this. It probably shows, and I have no regrets <3
> 
> Hi hearteating! Thank you for sharing your inspiring prompts! I hope you have a lovely holiday season! <3

He doesn't hear a thing.

The world is quiet, and the water is still. He stands out here, looking at the sea, until time stands still and there is no longer any sea. Until nothing makes sense anymore.

Out here, by the water, there is always something. His mind and his hands are never quiet. But his hands miss Him. His heart misses Him. His heart is always waiting.

He watches the stars, and he remembers. He remembers, and he knows, and God will wipe away every tear. Yes, He will. He's promised. Even when the promises aren't enough and the tears never fall.

He is tired, and everything is new, and everything is true, and maybe a wiser man would write this down.

But that's never really been his style.

*

Crying isn't necessarily a weakness. It's just something he doesn't have time for. It's just something he really doesn't know how to do.

As a child, Marcus never cried. He talked back and spit and cursed and fought, but he never really cried. Maybe he could have cried through his prayers. Maybe he could have cried through his rage. But he didn't. He spat out his anger. He lashed out, he burned, and yes, he fought. But he didn't cry. No, he didn't fucking cry.

When he heard Him for the first time, he still didn't cry. Later, his words turned into knives. His hands into a weapon. His heart into fire, then tar, then stone. He learnt to be alone with the pain. He learnt about peace, but it was something far away, something like a foreign word. And he turned into an instrument. He turned into a wound.

And he went out, to wander in the night. To wander through the years. He never stopped. He cast the demons away, like doubts. He prayed, but he didn't cry. He kept going. His words never ran dry. And the world gave him night after night, and year after year, and soul after soul. All to save. All to leave behind.

No, he never stopped. He was good. He _is_ good.

But it's not enough.

He cried in Mexico, but it felt hollow. It felt wrong. It wasn't enough. He wanted to burn and burn and burn more, but he could only cry. And so, he left. He never went back.

And when he stopped hearing Him, he didn't cry. Those who are gone don't cry. So why should he? His hands are empty, and he doesn't have the right.

His heart is used up and trampled and violent and raw. And he is all rough edges and ashes and dust. He is a shadow. He is here. And he is gone. But he threads in little pieces of himself, everywhere he goes. He puts himself in the hands of hope. He shapes love from the ashes, from the dust. And he holds it close.

*

There are ashes in the world. There are things that can rise from them. Here, where the island joins hands with the water. Here, where the shore has stone fingers. Here, with the wind and the water. Here, the walls come down. Here, love won't try to break him. God, he is still learning. Here, loved and forgiven, he cries. And his heart burns, like an offering. His heart calls out, and his heart answers.

Lord, he doesn't want to be a shadow. He just wants to _be_.

And maybe his eyes are closed. Maybe his heart is frightened, like a wild, hurt animal. And maybe his heart is thirsty, and maybe his heart is hungry, but it's alright. Here, his heart can feast. His heart can overflow. His heart can be sated. And maybe, if he bares his heart. Maybe, if he tries. Maybe, if he prays _love, break me. Love, take me in. Love, make me whole. Turn my heart around._ And maybe, if he says _if it's you, tell me to come to you on the water. I will not fall away. I will not fall._

Maybe then, he will hear something.

*

Marcus isn't sure he deserves this. But somehow, he's found it. And what can he say to that? It's like clockwork, God's plan. It's strange. It's tough as all hell. But it's perfect. It's meant to be.

Here is love, by the water. It guides him home, to a safe harbour. It kisses the cuts and bruises on his hands. It loves him with no words, but with actions. With raw honesty. With truth. Love is fierce. And love is soft. It's both things. And it's good, and it's enough. And it's exactly as it should be.

He is safe. He is here, and God is here as well. And God is a right bastard sometimes, Marcus knows. And that's exactly how he likes Him. And he hears Him laughing, as he makes everything new. And sometimes he doesn't wipe away the tears, because his angels will do it for him.

Softly, the prayers echo within his heart. And he leaves his heart, safe by the water, so that it may be healed. He comes to the shore, and he counts the stars. The wind turns into the waves, and the waves fade into the sky. They are like this love that wishes to keep on loving, to the end. This love, learning, learning to be.

Under the tender, bright gaze of the stars, he finds himself. He belongs here. And he doesn't need to see it. He believes. Between the truth and the promise, between the prayer and the tears. Yes, he believes. And he hears something. And he hears everything. And the stars cling to him, like prayers, and the prayers live in his heart. The prayers let him come home, and he has never known such peace. He lets go, like the wind, like the waves. He lets go, into the hands of love.


End file.
